


Dragon Age: A Gilded Cage

by LilacGooseberies



Series: Dragon Age: Birds Of A Feather [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: All Origins True AU, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multiple Wardens, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9616064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacGooseberies/pseuds/LilacGooseberies
Summary: “Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.” - Stephen KingThe life of Circe Amell before the Fifth Blight: her origins, childhood, struggles within the Circle, Harrowing and infatuation with a Templar - her cage is embellished with love, achievements, failures and regrets.





	1. Of Those Who Came Before Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandra saw what refusing a dream looked like. She didn't wish to share her cousin's fate, and thus ran with her beloved to Ferelden.
> 
> But what was Revka's true fate? And why was it forgotten?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fanfiction and post on AO3 ever. This chapter sets the tone, giving context to Circe Amell's birth and more insight into the Amell family. Contains a headcannon that adds drama to the story. 
> 
> Critique and advice are encouraged. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

 

**9:04 Dragon**

* * *

 

 

As if by magic, the tedious ball became marvellous. _By magic,_ she laughed at her own joke, colour finally returning to her cheeks even as her corset seemed to tighten around her waist.

 

Revka never enjoyed the parties her family forced her to attend, feeling uncomfortable amongst eyes that leeched and undressed her with hungry stares, searching for a weakness, waiting for her to commit a mistake. Yet the presence of mages at the ball made her heart flutter above the crowds of nobles. Well, a _particular_ mage made her insides ache with both fear and excitement, feeling all of a sudden shy.

He was remarkably handsome – with grey eyes and strawberry blonde hair, a lithe figure that graced his robes. But it was his smile that made her feet feel numb, a smile more electrifying than the sparks he juggled with. For the first time, Revka was thankful for her family’s reputation.

 

Of course Damion dragged her closer to the mages – he was as fascinated with them as she was, but for entirely different reasons. Her brother enjoyed danger, doing the very things he was not supposed to do and she half-expected him to duel one of the mages. Naturally, he wasn’t a good role model as eldest child of the Amell family. Behind them was Leandra, clinging to her skirt alongside Gamlen.

It was the first year the Amell children attended the Viscount’s yearly ball. None of them knew what was actually celebrated: the month, the city’s independence, Viscount Perrin Threnhold’s anniversary – all that was clear was that Revka’s uncle, Lord Aristide Amell, seemed the most important person here. Each time Revka looked after him, he was in a different part of the ballroom, talking to some dignitary or lord, sipping from a drink and laughing with a group surrounding him or dancing with some beautiful woman, whilst Lady Bethann watched. But unlike the other parties the Amell children were now attending, this one had **mages**.

At the Viscount’s insistence, a group of several mages from the Gallows Circle of Magi arrived to entertain the nobles, accompanied by those brutes, the Templars. It was easy to distinguish them from the Guardsmen, who sometimes seemed invisible as they patrolled Kirkwall’s streets, unlike the Templars who were unmatched in stature and respect.

 

And as she guessed, Damion was indeed looking for a fight. She couldn’t understand how drinking so little made her brother so reckless and stubborn.

‘You, sparkler!’ he called, pointing his finger to the handsome mage, ‘Is that all you can do?’

After gaining the attention of the audience, he turned to face the other nobles, amongst which were a few of his friends, known to share the same dangerous interest. ‘I don’t get why mages are so feared by everyone, they could hardly stand against a warrior as myself!’ he said as he unsheathed his sword ( _was he allowed to do that_?), raising it up with a heroic posture, applauded by his insufferable friends.

‘Damion, stop that!’ she tried to say, grabbing his arm softly only to be shoved into the crowd.

But he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he returned his gaze to the mage, now watching him with a mysterious gaze. He shrugged at the provocation, since he wasn’t obliged to answer to Damion’s duel. This, instead, angered the young noble more. ‘Come on, mage! Don’t you want to show these _wonderful_ people what you are truly capable of? What’s a few tricks? Is this what you people do all day in that Tower of yours? Play with sticks?’ That earned a few hearty laughs.

Leandra and Gamlen both stared with awe, all three feeling ashamed on behalf on of Damion. Luckily for the mage, he didn’t need to respond. A Templar appreared from behind, grabbing her brother’s shoulder and with an unnatural ease, then shoving the angry noble through the crowd. _Maker_ , their father will be furious. Revka knew she had to try stop her brother whenever he seemed _so eager_  to bring shame to the family name, yet sometimes, even when his actions are predictable, she doesn’t have the courage or the heart to stand in his way. The least she could do is fix his mistakes.

 

‘I apologize, serrah mage. My brother has never seen a mage before – well, none of us have’ she said, pointing to her younger cousins who saluted him courteously. ‘He can be a bit hot-tempered, but h-he means well. We all do, that is.’

The mage looked at her with the sweetest and most charming smile Revka had ever seen. ‘My lady, worry not.’ He seemed more relaxed now without everyone’s ( _or maybe just the Templar’s_ ) attention no longer on him. He bowed to her and took her hand, kissing it with gentle care. ‘How can I feel anything but joy when I’m around by a woman as charming and beautiful as yourself?’

 _ **Oh** , that was smooth_, Revka thought.

She must have been obviously flustered, as Leandra stepped in to speak instead when nothing came out of Revka’s mouth. ‘Messere, I may not have a way to compare, but you are talented not only with magic, but also with words. My cousin here, Revka, is much obliged, messere.’

‘ _Revka_ ’ he repeated. And the way he said it, with astute consideration and near veneration made her nearly faint.

She could only smile with awe before being dragged away by her cousins, trying so hard to ask him for his name, to beg him to stay and save her – with nothing coming out.

 

Gamlen seemed amused. When you are 14 years old, everything is a joke and love is disgusting, _yuck_ feeling. She used to be like this herself, when she was his age. Now all she wanted was a taste of those love stories before being forever bound to some stupid noble. ‘Cousin, you should close your mouth before you swallow all the flies in the room’ he joked, pushing her jaw back in its place, which in turn made her turn bright red.

‘Maker’s _breath_ , Rev!’ Leandra chimed in, crossing her arms. ‘ _Very_ smooth. You could have gotten in trouble for that!’

‘For what, speaking to a mage? Apologizing to him on behalf of my idiotic brother?’

‘You and I both know you weren’t just –speaking-, Rev. You were eying him like he was desert!’

 

And as the girls bickered, they hadn’t noticed lady Bethann approaching them from behind, subtly gliding her arm up Revka’s shoulder: ‘Mind explaining it to me as well, Revka?’

Bethann was like a mother to Fausten’s children after their mother, Amalia’s death. For as long as she could remember, Revka’s mother had always been sickly, weakened further by the birth of her children. Eventually, she withered away, dying in her sleep when Revka was barely 6. So, naturally, Revka felt caught with the cat in the bag when Bethann approached. She trembled under Bethann’s touch, who explained further:

‘I mean your brother, dear. Why is he dragged away by a Templar? Maker, don’t tell me he actually tried to duel one of mages!’

Her words made her seem upset with Damion’s recklessness, but her expression and voice made it sound like: _Because if he did, then Fausten owes me. I won the bet!_

Leandra, the star of Bethann and Aristide’s life, explained to her mother everything she needed to know, skipping over the parts where Revka tried to apologize to the mage but ended up flirting with him. _Ugh_ , it makes it even worse that she doesn’t know his name!

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the party was uneventful. Damion reunited with the group eventually, dancing at some point with his fiancée, a beautiful girl from Ostwick who met her beloved for the first time. Leandra was paraded around the ballroom by Bethann, who introduced her daughter to the most important people of Kirkwall, even the Free Marches. Gamlen, on the other hand, sulked around the corner of the ballroom, often trying to speak to the ladies nearby him.

Revka too was supposed to meet and dance with _so many_ men – but whenever she could, she would escape her father’s stern look and return to watch the mages, looking at the man she was now definitely in love with. _And didn’t even know his name!_

 

 

At the end of the night, the Amells were amongst the last families still in the ballroom. The mages, tired and bored of repeating the same tricks and being applauded to like circus animals (at least, that’s how Revka would feel if she were in their place) were preparing to leave, but for some reason were stalling. Revka couldn’t see her mage amongst the others who were gathering their things.

 

She made her way to the balcony with the best view of Kirkwall, yearning for fresh air and receiving instead the one thing she wanted the entire night.

As she stepped in the balcony, she was grabbed in an embrace by the one she’s been smiling to all night. His lips searched hers and she gave in with passion, melting in his arms. It was a hurried, involuntary action, a desperation on both sides. Revka had never felt more alive than now, in his arms - and in her mind, she wished and prayed they could fly away from Kirkwall, from the nobility and the Gallows.

He was the one who broke the kiss that felt like an eternity of serenity and joy. Sliding his hand up her neck and cupping her cheek, he gazed into her green eyes, as if it was the first time he’d ever seen her. And after a moment of silent watching, he finally spoke.

 

 

‘ **Quentin**. My name is Quentin.’

 

Then he left. But they would meet again. And from their love, a child was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM! Crazy Quentin from DAII. Didn't add him in the tag so not to spoil things.  
> It's a headcannon of mine that Quentin was entertaining mages like Malcolm did before being transferred to Starkhaven. Revka/Quentin is the tragic end of the same scenario Leandra/Malcolm love story. More on this will be discussed in the next chapter. 
> 
> Hopefully I'm onto a good start!


	2. And Made Us Who We Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Within Temptation - Say my name  
> Painting: Philip Alexius de László  
> Leandra's POV.

_Tell me about_  
_The days before I was born,_  
_How we were as children_

_You touch my hand_  
_These colors come alive_  
_In your heart and in your mind_  
_I cross the borders of time_  
_Leaving today behind to be with you again_

* * *

 

 

 

 

**9:04 Dragon**

**15th of Bloomingtide**

 

 

The painter had done a marvellous job, Leandra thought. Her cousin was a fair woman, the spitting image of her father, Fausten. She couldn’t understand why so many of her matches were suddenly going back on their proposals as of late.

This painting was just one of the many copies Lord Fausten had commissioned to send to suitors. If those men could see just how beautiful she, they’d accept her hand in marriage. That was the plan. But the problem wasn’t that Revka was off-putting. It was the _rumours_.

 

Ever since they attended the Viscount’s annual ball, Revka had been acting strangely. She’d disappear for hours at night, her father seemingly unaware of that – Leandra didn’t want to be the one to tell him. And even when they all spent time together, she seemed…distant. Her mind was someplace else, with someone else.

Whereas before she was just picky when it came to suitors, now she instantly rejected them all. When left alone to speak to an admirer, she seems to always say something that made the other leave suddenly, in an irritated demeanor. Although she wasn’t about to voice it, Leandra could guess what changed about her cousin. She tried to get a straight answer out of her, but Revka just shrugged the question away with an ‘I don’t know what you speak of.’ She was in love but denied it from everyone. Maybe even herself.

The rumours around Kirkwall spoke of Revka’s affair with a _mage_ , but a name never came up. They were dubious and the fact that some of them were downright ridiculous (Revka wouldn’t take part in blood magic orgies to summon the Old Gods, _what is **wrong** with these people?!_ ) made Lord Fausten deny them vehemently the few times they ever came up. Revka herself denied any such allegations, yet some workers at the docks swore they often saw her prowling about. All the denying made things tense and unearthly in their estate. Leandra suspected that Fausten knew the truth, but said nothing in public – even if that public was his own family. He did the same about Damion, who was not as subtle in his criminal activities.

Amongst the many rumours, there was _one_ that connected the siblings. Damion, supposedly, smuggled lyrium for the Templars and used his operation to secure a reunion between Revka and her mage lover. Even if they denied everything, it didn’t stop Aristide from pushing away from his twin brother. His position and succession to Kirkwall’s Viscount seat could not be compromised by any scandalous rumours, whether they were true or not.

* * *

 

**28th of Justinian**

 

They kept in the family. Quiet and subtle. _Maker_ , it happened so fast Leandra herself needed a few days to understand what has happened.

One day, things were normal, just as tense as they’ve been since the ball. The next day, Revka is forced to marry a merchant from Ostwick - wealthy, but not of noble blood. Their close relatives are the only people present besides Grand Cleric Elthina, who is ‘blessing’ this union. And Revka is crying and sobbing, sounds only amplified by the vast Chantry of Kirkwall. At the end, she said those were happy tears, but Revka’s always been an awful liar.

Leandra stares in terror as her cousin’s dreams are shattered.

 

 

That same evening, before Revka is escorted by her ‘husband’ to their new home, Leandra receives a note with an hour and location. She finds the stairs that lead to Darktown in the estate’s basement, feeling a pang of worry knotting her stomach. The fact that Revka wants to meet in such an obscure place, yet very close to their home, means she wants both privacy as well as the chance to return quickly to the estate.

Revka is in a corner of the room, surrounded by more unfortunate souls. She wears a grey cowl that covers her face and clothing, blending in colour-wise without having to roll around in the dirt. Once she sees her cousin, she jumps to her feet and brings Leandra closer, whispering everything to her.

‘T-they took him Leandra, _Maker_ … It’s my fault, I should have just **run** , but I’m a fool.’ She cried, her eyes bloodshot and dark. ‘I should have just run with him. Instead, they took him and I d-don’t know where!’

It was pitiful to watch proud Revka so broken. And in this light dress she wore with no corset, she could see the small bump on her stomach. She was no longer as thin and lean as she was three months ago, and it all clicked in place. Revka could read her cousin’s expression, her eyes fixed on her belly.

‘It was father’s compromise. I get to keep i-it but marry this _man_.’ she said with disgust. _Sob_. It felt like there was so much more she wanted to speak, to confess to finally free herself from the burden of secrecy, but she didn’t need to actually speak the words for the knowledge to come out.

‘Rev, I…’

 

‘I am a fool, Leandra…’

* * *

 

**9:05 Dragon**

**1st of Wintersmarch**

 

 

 

The baby was an absolute beauty. She had large, blue eyes (‘ _They all have blue eyes at first, Leandra’ said Bethann with a warm smile_ ) and slept soundly in her mother’s arms, making adorable cooing sounds. Revka herself never looked better. Since her marriage, she’d been distant and hopeless-looking. It seemed no one but herself, Revka and Fausten knew of the child’s true parentage, each one commenting on how much the babe looks like her mother.

The timing itself didn’t set people off. They replaced the scandalous rumour with a more believable one, that explained the rush around the marriage. Instead of a mage, Revka’s been seeing this merchant at the docks and as she was with child, they decided to quickly marry to spare the family from shame.

Even though her birth was disgraced, the babe was loved. She was welcomed by the family with warmth and joy, reuniting the twin pillars of the family - even for a short time.

Leandra couldn’t help but wonder:

‘Rev, what are you going to name her?’

Revka looked up from her child, her eyes searching beyond everyone, seeking something outside the room…

 

 

‘Circe. Circe Amell.’

The babe cooed in agreement.

* * *

 

 

In less than a month, Leandra found herself in Revka’s shoes. Smitten with Malcolm Hawke, a mage from the Gallows Circle of Magi, who swept her off her feet at the Banquet. Her heart and mind are in dispute.

She looks at Revka and sees all that she could be if she would listen to her mind. To lose the man you love only to be tied to a monster.

Johann was an ugly man, and not because of his Rivaini appearance, but because of his dark soul. He was power-hungry, grabbing at an opportunity that would have ruined nobler men. After the child was born, Revka was miserable, her arms always covered by her dresses to hide the bruises, her walking always a little funny. Johann was proud of the name he adopted through marriage, using it to gain the upper hand in his business negociations. Still, he seemed the honest sort, the kind who knew the loopholes but never broke the law.

But also the sort who liked to hear women cry.

 

So Leandra said: ‘I will not let them shatter my dreams as they have shattered hers.’

And so, she ran with her husband to Ferelden by the end of 9:05 Dragon. 

 

-

 

Leandra’s run was only the beginning of the family’s trouble.

A year after, Damion was arrested during his investigation, an action that would lead to Fausten’s downfall.

Aristide’s chances to gain the seat of Viscount’s seat were destroyed, as was his heart when his beloved daughter decided she loves a mage more than her family.

Bethann grew sicker by the year since then as well, dying by the end of 9:10 of cholera. Aristide followed his wife’s steps a year later.

Fausten consumed all of their family’s wealth and resources to save Damion from prison, desperate to cling to what was left of this family, only to end up encroaching it in even more debt. Alone, he wasted away.

 

But worst of all was Revka’s cries and screams in the streets of Kirkwall as the Templars took away her 5-year-old child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter on the Amells before going on to the Circle. It's so hard to work around the timeline. Bioware made a mess of Amell's origins, especially in canon. They should be at least older than Hawke who is 24 during the Blight, and who the hell takes the Harrowing at 25 or more and be considered a success? 
> 
> My headcannon is that shortly before Bethann died, Amell was taken to the Kinloch Tower. Revka also had a newborn pair of twins and another pair of twins that were 3 years old, thus accounting for all four other children besides Circe.


	3. Ivory Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reports, letters and journal entries that summarise the key moments of Circe Amell's life in the Circle pre-Harrowing.

_I stood upon the Ivory Tower_

_As far as I could see_

_The winds that grew from out of the trees were calling out to me_

_Curtains blew in the Ivory Tower_

_Willows start to bend_

_The ravens flew to escape the fury as the storm descends_

_I followed fortune 'round the tower_

_Searching in vain_

_For through the mist 'round the old stone tower I only found rain_

_And though the cold, cold Ivory Tower was stony through and through_

_I laid and dreamed on a feather bed, my dream was of you_

_My dream was of you._

* * *

 

  _(One of Irving's reports, dating back to 9:10 Dragon)_

 

Circe Amell arrived yesterday escorted by Ser Robin and Ser Patrick from Amaranthine’s port, all the way from Kirkwall. There were no disturbances on their way here. The Templars claim she cried for her mother very loudly at first, but caught a cold on the way here and lost her voice. Her magic and fear kept her cold despite the warm clothing.

I haven’t seen a mage so young for a long time. She’s hardly 6 years old and already manifesting her magic. The reports from Kirkwall’s Gallows claim that she was found, while sleeping, covered in snow by her grandfather. It seems she hails from a respected noble family; it is no wonder her family sent her to a faraway Circle. The mother didn’t respond well to the situation.

Her magic is not only prematurely manifested, but it is also unusual. Most children who come here either set something on fire or electrocuted someone by mistake, driven by their emotions. The claims are that she somehow summoned ice in form of snow while sleeping. A reaction to fear? Hopeless-ness? Is she already plagued by demons, at this young age? She must be kept close watch of.

Still, she’s a sweet child. Extremely shy, but seems to attach herself to womanly figures. She’s taken a liking to Wynne and a few enchantresses, as well as Ser Patrick to whom she’d been assigned. Greagoir is as prudent as ever, but I can see he’s as troubled by this as I am.

Still, a young mage is an opportunity. She is now a child of the Circle - she doesn’t fear Templars for any other reason other than their stature. Older children who are brought to the Circle generally hold us in disdain, refusing to part with their families. There are some to whom magic is a blessing that saves them from a life of suffering and hunger. I hope to make this a home for Circe, a place where she will feel safe and happy. They all deserve that.

 

* * *

 

_(Pages from Amell’s journal)_

_(Age 9)_

 

I managed to mess the old journal. I accidentally froze it and when it thawed it was all wet, couldn’t read a single word from it. Wynne said I should keep writing. Says it’s a clear improvement since I began.

And I guess she’s right. I’m sorry I didn’t read what I’ve written when I first received the journal. If I can even read that since my handwriting was horrible.

It’s annoying – whenever I try to make ice while in class, I can’t do it! Then I manage to ruin my notebook with ice. I don’t understand what I’m not doing right! I came here earlier than any of the other kids but they’re still better than me with magic.

I hate this. I hate them. They just laugh when I fail. So I will laugh when they get bad grades!

But Wynne also said that studious mages get to see the world. If they’re not dangerous (and I’m not!) and get good grades in class, after they become mages they can leave the Tower to study. We’re lucky for the physical hours when we can swim. I wish I could get a monocle so I can see beyond the lake.

Cera also said I should keep drawing. She liked my sketches.

_(childish drawing of a tree and a row of birds)_

 

* * *

 

_(Age 10)_

_(written in a messy bold)_

 

 ** _I HATE THAT ANDERS KID!!!_ **Maker, he **ran** away during class, swam and now no one can go outside anymore. He’s so **STUPID!**

And _weird_. He hasn’t said what his name is, doesn’t talk to anyone, just stares at everyone with a look that say ‘I’ll kill you all’ and now he’s grounded, I think. He deserves it.

I liked going outside to swim.

Maybe they’ll make exceptions. Only the **BEST** of us can go outside, and I’d be one of them. I studied all night for the herbalism exam! If I pass it, I’ll get to work in the greenhouse, and I like it there. I like the smell of boiled elfroot, embrium and honey!

_(drawing of an angry face and two vines of embrium and elfroot)_

 

* * *

_(Age 11)_

 

Irving had me fight a duel with Godwin. It was so…. _shameful_ … If you could even call it a fight…

I panicked. Everyone was staring at me, even Anders. They all smiled so satisfied. Decided I don’t get the Mage of the Year award anymore so they’d though to mess with me. This must be Wynne's hand.

So I just made a shield. Tried to paralyze him, didn’t last long. My spirit bolds couldn’t get past his shield but he seemed as unsure as I was. No, scratch that, I was _terrified_. Not by Godwin, Maker. _Everyone was staring at me._

I’ve already had a ‘talk’ with Irving. Said he was worried when I came that I’d prove to be a too powerful mage because of how young I was. His way of saying I was a bad mage. Isn’t he supposed to be happy about it? The others had their magic blow up in their faces.

I’m doing the best I can.

 

* * *

 

_(Age 15)_

 

They brought an elf today. He’s tiny and scared, can’t be older than 5. They didn’t say much about him, but it seems he’s dangerous. I heard the Templars talking about how he’s been found. Apparently, some travellers stumbled upon a burnt part of the Brecillian forest on their way and found the child alone. Nothing more.

His name is Kazar Surana – I find it funny how little they know about him yet how _certain_ they were when they said his name. He hates it here, keeps crying and screaming things in elven, mostly asking for his mother, from what I can tell.

 

I was like this, too. Just not a ball of fire and hate. Poor Kazar…

Irving’s taken a liking to him, it looks like he’ll take Kazar under his personal care. It’s going to occupy a lot of his time – I hope he’s prepared.

Because Greagoir is less than excited.

 

* * *

 

_(Age 18)_

 

I expect it any day now. It’s so full of mystery! I’ve been preparing for weeks, since my coming of age day! Most mages have their Harrowing as soon as they are considered ‘ _ready_ ’, but they never say what ‘ _ready_ ’ means. It’s clearly an experience – I think I’ve more than proven myself with my studies. The exam on Tevene was particularly difficult, they tried to trick us by using different dialects.

I think they’re just postponing mine because of Ser Patrick. Maker, he’s losing his mind. Lyrium has really taken its toll on him – he hardly even remembers me! And he’s watched over me since I came here.

Irving’s hinted at a replacement coming as soon as he finishes training, or his initiation. I suppose this Templar’s real final test will take place here. Templars need to be resolute, powerful, willful! They’re still clinging to Patrick until the new recruits arrives because I’m the only charge Patrick has left, and they know I’m not going to do anything shady.

I also devised a glyph that will automatically lock my diary with energy when I’m not around it. I don’t believe in everything Anders says, but it doesn't mean he's not right...

He’s been more friendly since Karl started talking to him. It’s worrying - people say someone will be transferred to Kirkwall. If Anders gets separated from Karl he’s just going to start escaping _again_. I guess the Templars get too bored to just sit and look at walls all day. They need exercise.

I just hope they won’t lock Anders up too much if he does escape again.

 

 

* * *

 

_(Another one of Irving's reports)_

 

Circe's development is slow. She seems too scared to cast a shield or even a glyph. It takes her a while to accommodate herself with new spells, even if she can explain the process perfectly, better than the books can. Yet, even as she knows the theory, she struggles with the practice. She’s inclined towards creation magic, but has potential for primal as well. Yet we can’t encourage a destructive personality. If she feels more comfortable as a researcher, then I will not abide her from this path. Wynne is more than happy with how things turned out. But Circe’s clearly afraid of herself and magic, isolating herself from fellow apprentices. She does spend more time around enchanters and mages, but generally keeps to herself. I fear for her: Maker knows how she’ll react to the Harrowing. In face of danger, she freezes – loses control over herself but not in the same way Surana does. She’s incapable of doing anything, locks herself away from the Fade furthermore. It’s far more difficult than I’ve predicted.

We’ll wait until the new recruit settles in the Circle. Catch two birds with one stone, as they say.

 

>  
> 
> Her heart was clutched by fear –
> 
> fear of power.
> 
> Father’s strength when he’d throw a vase at the walls or the strength of his voice as he yelled at mother. Grandfather’s strong grip as he grabbed her tiny hand whenever she’d be naughty. Her mother’s strong shriek echoing Kirkwall as she was hauled away by the Templars.
> 
> But most of all, Circe was afraid of the Fade and those who inhabited it. Afraid of the power of dreams. It took her years to understand this fear, why she couldn’t cast the simplest fireball or spark. Whenever the adrenaline would pump through her veins, she would panic at the sensation, freeze in her steps. Opening your mind to the Fade was like diving into cold water, feeling your ankles grabbed by claws as you are pulled to the Abyss.
> 
> Knowledge could anchor her in reality. So she studied more, abandoned stories for legends, dreams for facts. She wanted to understand magic so that her fear would disappear. But as much as she knows, the less she understands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song whose lyrics were used: Blackmore's Night - Ivory Tower  
> I recommend it, it's beautiful and medieval sounding. 
> 
>  
> 
> Everything written between brackets in italics is an explanation, similar to those used in the actual games.


	4. Heartening | Harrowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Apocalyptica - Beautiful

**Harrowing**

_adjective_  
  
                 extremely disturbing or distressing; grievous:  
              _a harrowing experience._

* * *

 

 

Excitement was one word for what Cullen was feeling. Anxious was another.

After completing the Vigil, his superiors disclosed the name of the Circle he’ll be serving at: Kinloch Hold, the Circle of Magi set upon Lake Calenhad. It was an honour to pass the Vigil at such a young age (he has to remember to write home – his parents will be proud!) but the most important test has yet to come.

As he packed his few possessions (a handful of letters, casual clothing and nightwear, his own supply of lyrium) he kept thinking of his future life, the fruit of his work and servitude. To protect the world from the dangers of blood magic and demons in the name of the Maker – there was no worthier and more honourable cause.

Time passed quickly now compared to the long days he spent meditating. He hardly noticed getting aboard a carriage with a fellow Templar and passing through the Fereldan countryside. A smile grew on his face at the sight of the mighty Tower and its now ruined bridge. It was the very image of ancient knowledge and magic to Cullen – feeling smaller than he ever did before as he approached the lake’s shore.

As he took in the shape of the Tower, the other Templar spoke to what seemed to be the ferryman. The latter took his boat to the Circle as the Templar approached Cullen. _What was his name? Jensen? Jarred?_

‘As soon as ol’ Kester returns, we’ll take the boat to the Circle. We got time for an ale or two. Might be the last one you’ll taste in a while, kid,’ he said grinning beneath his beard, whilst pointing to what looked like an inn behind them.

Cullen only nodded, following the other one into ‘The Spoiled Princess’. The smell of cider and ale was well imprinted on the wooden floor, but besides that, it was nothing like any other tavern Cullen ever stepped in. It was deadly quiet and empty, save for the bartender. It shouldn’t be surprising – no one would stumble upon this inn unless they had business with the Circle.

As Jensen (or Jarred? Jarrod?) was gulping down his ale, Cullen wished for the typical tavern music – or at least the noisy background made by talkative patrons. Instead, he could hear with crisp clarity how the Templar wiped his beard clean of foam, or how the bartender cleaned a mug with a dirty cloth or even his own sweat dripping down his forehead.

‘He don’t look like one of em’ mages,’ the bartender said, eyeing Cullen strangely, ‘who you, boy?’

‘He’s a new guy. Patrick’s going to retire so Chantry sent a recruit to replace him,’ the Templar responded, grinning proudly as he watched Cullen nervously drink his ale, as if he handpicked Cullen himself for this role.

Thankfully, they didn’t stay for another drink. The awkwardness of the entire conversation was cut short as they paid before returning to the docks. With only a hand wave from Kester, they hopped in the small boat and approached the Circle - now even more ominous with the full moon set upon the sky.

 

* * *

 

 Greagoir’s gaze was still focused on Irving’s report. He had to make sure the old man didn’t forget any apprentices from the list. Or added any side-notes they hadn’t agreed upon verbally, but which Irving would have considered approved just because the paper had Greagoir’s signature. The First Enchanter was intelligent and witty, but by now, Greagoir already knew all his tricks.

‘Are you sure about this, Irving? Shouldn’t we assign the recruit to a more… typical mage?’ he tried to phrase in a kind way.

Circe Amell was an anomaly. She came from a very young age – which sometimes is a sign that the mage holds great power. Yet she’s quite the opposite – the worst she could do is make the floor slippery by summoning a thin layer of ice. Because of her inability – her refusal – to tap in the Fade as any of the other apprentices do, it’s difficult to determine her true potential. She could very well be a wild card – burst with power from the Harrowing experience, which was too intense for some mages.

‘If there is something I know about Amell is that her will is indomitable. She has proven herself, Greagoir – there is no point in prolonging this more than necessary. She is already suspicious why nothing has happened in the past year.’

‘Even so, why not appoint a different Templar? Hadley, Bran or Drass? Why the recruit?’

But Irving smiled knowingly, gently tapping his temple. ‘His mind and spirit are not the only ones that require testing,’ he added, turning his hand towards his chest, ‘his heart, too, must be tested before he’s given Knighthood.’

His heart.

Oh Irving. _You clever bastard._

 

* * *

 

Cullen thought the Tower itself had magic of its own. As he was guided by the Knight-Commander, he could see the difference between an empty corridor – empty, large, cold – and a crowded room. It felt like he was inside any other Fortress, filled with people of all kinds, some who smiled at his sight and others who frowned and averted their eyes.

He felt lucky that his own charges were pleasant people (though he suspected they were specially chosen just for the start). One of them was an enchanter who taught primal magic classes to the apprentices. Another was a 12-year-old elf boy who just ignored everyone around as he read from a massive book. He suspected these two wouldn’t be the only ones directly under Cullen’s supervision, otherwise the tour would have probably ended. Instead, they were in the library – again – and the Knight-Commander was looking around impatiently, probably for a third mage. He was muttering to himself as he guided Cullen behind a bookcase.

Then, he pointed towards a barred window, calling a name Cullen would remember for his entire life.

‘Amell!’

As if awakened from a spell, Cullen finally sees a woman’s figure raising from her sitting position near the window. Against the sun’s barred light, she’s but a figure, but as she approaches the two Templars he can feel his guts twisting as she becomes clearer.

 

She wears the same robes tens of other mages wear – coloured with a dark blue and the magenta shade of the Circle’s heraldry – yet it looks natural on her, as if they were specially tailored. Her chestnut hair was silky and perfectly straight, falling down to her hips, while her forehead was hidden behind a fringe.

As she approached them with steady steps, Cullen felt time slow down, as if he was back at the Vigil. His eyes fell from her hair to her large, deep-green eyes, a shade that made Cullen think the Fade’s greatest secrets resided in her gaze alone. Lips, full and slightly cracked, softly turned into a smile that made Cullen’s feet into paste. She was more beautiful than any other girl he’s ever seen and he quietly cursed the Maker. Why must he watch over this girl? Now, here, of all times?

As if reading his mind, the Knight-Commander’s gaze was locked on Cullen’s face, as if waiting for something.

‘Yes, Knight-Commander?’ the mage asked quietly, with a strong Fereldan accent.

‘Templar-recruit Cullen,’ Greagoir said, finally turning his eyes away to present the mage – as if he wasn’t aware of her presence, ‘this is apprentice Circe Amell, the last of your charges. You are responsible for her wellbeing, supervision and security. Amell, this is the recruit that will replace ser Patrick.’

Her smile widened, bowing lightly before the two.

‘Pleased to meet you, ser Cullen.’

To be honest, it was the friendliest welcome any of his charges have given him. The elf just huffed and ignored the two as Cullen was introduced and the enchanter just smiled in acknowledgement and resumed his writing.

‘P-pleasure is mine,’ Cullen stuttered, not sure why his throat suddenly felt so dry. He cleared it as he looked back at Greagoir to break away contact with her.

The Knight-Commander, though, sighed, defeated. ‘Alright, now that this part is over, let’s return to my office. Amell, back to your work.’

And like that, the best – and worst – two minutes of Cullen’s life were over. He felt under a spell as he gazed in Amell’s eyes. How is he going to watch over her for the rest of his serving years?

 

As they returned to his office, all Greagoir could think about was ways of getting back at Irving somehow. The old man was clever. He knew a young man such as Cullen would react to Amell’s appearance. She wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But she had the kind of mystery and enticing beauty that would attract any young outsider, especially a teenager. If Cullen would fall to temptation and fail in the girl’s Harrowing (before or after were also dangerous times), Greagoir himself would feel the repercussions. Cullen came with a perfect score on his tests and training, held in high regard by the Chantry for his devotion and skill. To ruin a perfect recruit in such a short time would have consequences…

And considering the way the boy stuttered at the sight of Amell, Greagoir feared it was be too late.

Inside the office, Irving was waiting, watching the outside world through the only window unbarred in the Tower. Hearing the door open, the First Enchanter turned at the two men to smile knowingly.

‘Ah, hello young recruit. I take it you finished the tour? Met all your charges?’

Cullen nodded.

‘Including Circe Amell?’

Greagoir abstained himself from growling at the insinuation. He had to remedy the issue as soon as possible. ‘Yes, he met her too.’

‘Ah, splendid. Lady Amell must go through her Harrowing soon, a moment of great importance in the life of a mage. And a Templar.’ Irving was now pacing the room, sometimes glancing at the books or the paintings Greagoir had. ‘She’s a difficult mage, doesn’t speak to many people. She was ser Patrick’s charge ever since she came to the Circle, never trusted any other Templar to watch over her. She was adamant in her request to have the recruit watch over her.’

‘What request? Since when do we satisfy every petty request mages make? Does it matter whose charge she is? We watch over them for their own protection, not to make friendships, _First Enchanter_.’

‘Yes, I am well aware. But there is trust involved. Amell’s been delayed for a year already, Knight-Commander. She is a valuable mage and researcher and I recommend we fulfil this particular petty request. She needs to be watched by a Templar she can trust. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for. She is amongst the most trustworthy of our people.’ Irving declared, proudly standing in his decision.

But Greagoir wasn’t convinced. ‘We’ll see about that.’

On his first day and Cullen was already in trouble.

 

* * *

 

Settling in wasn’t as difficult as Cullen though. The requisitions officer supplied him with an armour and a proper sword, advising the recruit to wear the helmet at all times. Although it made it hard to breathe (it got soo very hot inside, luckily the Tower is drafty and chill no matter what), he was grateful. The entire conversation between his Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter made him nervous. He had to keep away from Amell for the time being. Or if she was around, he had to make sure she couldn’t recognize him by wearing the helmet. In a couple of weeks, this ill-timed infatuation (Mia always fantasized about love at first sight in stories, Maker would she be laughing now) will hopefully be gone. She was beautiful and will remain so no matter what, but hopefully time will allow Cullen to become accustomed and resist her good looks. He shuddered at the thought that the Knight-Commander might know about this…

And so, two weeks passed without any events of note. He was mostly assigned to the Enchanter’s level, the library and kitchen, spending hours without end staring at empty walls, struggling to keep his eyes open in the early morning rounds.

Two weeks until they finally gave the order: in the middle of the night, Cullen picked up Circe from her bed (her skin was so soft, he could feel it even under the gauntlets) and carried her, bridal style, coddling her softly to his chest, to the Harrowing chamber, climbing hundreds of stairs with her sleeping soundly. He tried not to wake her – but maybe she was awake and simply pretended to sleep, keeping appearances.

And as they reached the top of the Circle, in the room where both Amell and Cullen were to be tested, he prayed to the Maker they would both make it out of here alive – and successful.

After she took the vial of lyrium and feel into a deep-sleep, he was standing over her, his sword pointing to her heart, his breath steady.

 

She will succeed. She must. Otherwise, he will fail. And his heart, too, will be pierced deep.


	5. Black Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: August Wilhelmsson - Above it all  
> Harry Gregson-Williams - A new world 
> 
> Warnings: mentioned suicide; water/drowning phobia; panic;

The Harrowing was a lot quicker than Cullen expected. And by the faces of the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander, they thought the same thing. The last Harrowing he'd attended lasted for what felt like an eternity, even if it was labelled as normal. He didn’t realise it was over until Irving was bending down next to her and Greagoir pulled out his own sword, waving Cullen to step out of the way.

‘Impossible,’ he whispered sternly, bending down to get a better look and check on the mage. ‘No one’s ever finished this quickly. She _must_ have given in.’

But despite the accusations, he did nothing. He didn’t order her execution nor did he touch her, as if disbelieving his own words. Instead, the older mage was checking her vitals.

‘No, she’s herself. You’ve seen plenty examples of failed mages by now to know she’s herself. You needn’t be a talented mage to pass the Harrowing.’ Irving said, smiling proudly, standing up as he brushed his robe of the dust on his knees. ‘Mages with wit and will survive and thrive. And she has proven to have both. She is simply extraordinary.’

Greagoir didn’t seem interested in the other man’s praises, instead ordering Cullen to return her to bed and maintain watch – just in case. He was to finish his watch only when she’d wake, ensuring that she’s not changed in any way. Cullen wasn’t entirely excited to go on night duty for the next few weeks, but he thought it a good opportunity to stay away from her.

And so, the young Templar carried Circe back in his arms moments after he’d just held a sword to her heart, prepared to strike her down at any moment. And with each step down the Tower’s many stairs, the situation he’d just been in was absorbed further. She confronted a demon in the Fade – and won, in a faster pace than any other mage has done, at least in Kinloch Hold. It was different from his first Harrowing. That time, the mage was taking his time, or at least it seemed so. Being the one to hold the sword really changes your perspective.

 

* * *

 

 

She knocks on the door softly. She can hear the First Enchanter discussing with a Chantry envoy inside. She doesn’t pry – she was never good at understanding what whispering people said anyway. To spy on them would be rude at best, insolent at worst. So she waits for the young man to leave the office before going inside herself, excited to hear what Irving had to stay.

Since she’s woken up, all everyone ever talks about is her. It was the nicest gossip she’s ever picked up on and kind feels flattered that her young Templar spread the news to the others like it was his own achievement. He was so honest about his role of ‘ _ending your life if you become an abomination_ ’ (but wording it so much nicely) it made her, ironically, proud.

 

‘Ah, Circe, how do you feel?’

Irving’s question broke her trail of thought. As she sat in the seat in front of his desk, she nodded softly, smiling. ‘I feel well, First Enchanter. A light headache, but nothing noteworthy. You wanted to see me?’

But his smile was slowly turning into a frown as he fiddled with a yellow letter. He kept glancing between the letter and her, as if uncertain of what to do next. ‘As you are aware, we are discouraged from maintaining relations with members of our family upn arrival at the Circle of Magi.’

That came out of nowhere. ‘Um…yes, that’s a given,’ she responds, not sure what to make of it. 

‘You’ve performed well at your Harrowing. Maker, you’ve been a role model for mage-kin ever since you arrived here. And we’ve been very lucky to have you.’

The confusing on her face must be obvious by now. ‘I…Did I do something wrong? Did a relative of mine come into contact?’

He shook his head though, sorrow clouding his eyes. He slowly pushed the letter across the table to her, keeping his eyes on the yellow, stained piece of paper. ‘Not recently, no. It is… a letter we received after you came. From your mother.’

‘I-I don’t understand. Why give it now? After 14 years?’ Circe was now grasping the armlet of her chair, pushing the letter back to the old man. She didn’t want to go back there. She hadn’t thought about her old family in a very long time. Those memories were folded away, out of sight and out of mind. She didn’t want a memoir.

‘It felt cruel to give such news to a young girl back then,’ he said, voice dim. He sat back on his chair, his eyes locking with hers. ‘Since then, I’ve kept postponing, thinking of a good enough reason to give you this. Give you answers. You-’ he cleared his throat, pursing his lips and crossing his arms, searching for the right words to use. ‘You’ve always believed your family didn’t want you, that you’ve been abandoned by them.’

It was common practice. It’s what every child in the Tower went through. No parent would want to keep a mage in the family. Nobles would lose influence and wealth, whilst peasants, driven by fear and misunderstanding, could harm or bring harm upon themselves. In time, Circe accepted that this was inevitable for her. Her family were nobles, devout Andrastians – and mages were indentured servants to the Maker, isolated from society.

‘First Enchanter, I appreciate the thought,’ she began, a forced smile taking over her frown, ‘but I’d rather leave the past in the past and focus on the future instead.’ _Why wave the idea of a family in my face if I can’t have one?_

And to her satisfaction, Irving complies. They discuss important things, projects and research she can now _finally_ undertake as a Harrowed mage. She tells him with ridiculous enthusiasm, held back for about a year, about her theories, her hopes of leaving the Tower someday (‘ _under supervision, of course!_ ’) to investigate old ruins and battle grounds.

 

And somehow, when she leaves, the letter’s tight in her hands.

* * *

 

She’s tried to ignore it. Can’t find herself. Keeps picking up things, a book, a potion, always placing them back in their spot, not sure what to even begin with. Anything, she thinks, as long as I’m doing something. Yet the letter is haunting her, taunting with questions and hopeful answers. A message from her mother. So important that the First Enchanter decided to keep it all these years. _14 years_ , she ponders, disbelieving her own age. She stopped counting around 15.

The letter’s grown yellow from the years it stayed hidden in Irving’s drawers, gathering dust. It has wrinkled spots; left by what she’d guess were water droplets. Maybe she came by when it rained. Left the letter and went back home. Her finger shakily brings up the letter from its envelope and she sits on the bed, reading her mother’s words by the candle's light.

 

_My beloved Circe,_

             _My child. My life. They have taken everything from me when they took you from our home. I’m sorry I ~~didn’t~~ couldn’t come sooner. But there’s nothing to go back to now. ~~They’re dead to m~~ You were everything for that family and by taking you away,             they broke it. _

_The Templars, the Chantry - they wouldn’t tell me where they took you. I have ~~begged~~ prayed with fever and have obeyed their every rule yet they stole you from me still. But I have found you, my child. Worry not, I’m here for you, always will be. _

_I want you to know, I’m sorry for my mistakes. For choosing ~~family~~ honour over love. For being too weak to run away ~~with him~~. Know that I love you, more than life itself. You are ~~everything~~ all that is good in this world and to have you locked away,             my bird, would ~~be a crime to the Maker~~ be a sin. Let them sin, child. The Maker loves you. **I love you**. _

_If you’ll remain atop of Lake Calenhad for the rest of your life, then so shall I. The waters ~~whisp~~  call to me. The old man in charge won’t let me see you._

**_~~If you are reading this. Let me see her. Let me take her home. She’s just a child!!!!~~ _ **

_But I don’t need to see you to feel you, child. I’ll forever rest with you here._

             _Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._

             _Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls._

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._

_In my arms lies Eternity._

 

 

 

Ramblings, crossed words, cited verses from the Chant. She seems to have forgotten to sign her name. Her mother seemed a raving lunatic – a suffering one, though. Circe sighed and instinctually crushed the letter in her hands, not realizing a hot tear was rolling down her left cheek. _Damn them all. Damn her. Damn._

Why did she need to read it? What _good_ did it do? All it did was twist her guts, make her hate the situation even more than before because it was easier to think she wasn’t loved. Wasn’t needed.

And the way Revka spoke of the lake…

Laying her head on the pillow to drown out her sobs, she drifts to sleep.

* * *

 

 

Her bed is cold at first, a bit damp from the Tower's humid air. But instead of warming up from her body heat, the sheets feel more and more cold – and wet. But she can’t lift herself even as water drips on the floor until she can’t hear it anymore, instead watching it rise inch by inch near her bed.

She wants to scream but she can’t move. _Stuck_. A dream – has to be a dream! But even focusing and willing the water to go away doesn’t stop it from rising above her bed’s level, engulfing her in black waters.

She can’t breathe.

 

> _Again, Revka. If you take pity on her now, she’ll suffer for the rest of her life. We’ll all suffer because of your mistakes._

Memories she forsaken. Forgotten.

As if her limbs are caught tightly up in seaweed, she struggles against her paralysis. Her eyes turn to the ceiling but instead sees rays of light glimmering through the waves. She’s not in her room. She’s in the Fade and someone – _something_ – is trying to drown her. The demons from her Harrowing? Or her own mind?

_What provoked this? Why am I **remembering**? _

She wants to scream; her gut tells her to call for help – but who would come? Who’ll even hear her screaming in water in her own dreams? Is this a reaction to her mother’s letter?

_Mother_.

Suddenly, she can feel a pressure around her arm, a force pulling her towards the surface – a cold hand, wrinkled and thin.

Amell greets the surface with a gasp. Her eyes are wide open, yet she can’t see anything. Green and black oily figures roam in her vision. It feels real and that makes everything worse; she can’t force the reality of her dream to change in any way. She’s just a pawn of her dreams. Unlike normal people, she could remember and interact with these Fade vision, but couldn’t change them. _Please don’t be a demon please don’t be a demon…_

‘Who are you?!’ she asks, louder and thicker than she intends, but fear is difficult to control. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘Shhhhh’, says a voice, softly from behind her. The proximity makes Circe’s skin crawl. But when the hand touches her shoulder again, she feels warmth. She’s dried now. Warm. And she can see.

 

‘M-mother?’

But it wasn’t her mother, was it? The woman before her was beautifully plain. Gentle green eyes ( _like mine_ ) peered at her with adoration and curiosity. She wore the same clothes she always wore at the Chantry, elegant but modest, showing her superiority as a noble and humbleness as an Andrastian. Her hair, a dark, dirty blonde ( _not like mine…_ ) was curly and long, framing her silhouette. The water beneath disappeared completely and they were alone in a small alcove that reminded her of the Circle’s library. A familiar place.

She looked like Revka. But it couldn’t be her. Could it?

 

‘Circe,’ her mother says, as if it was the first time she’s ever pronounced the name. ‘I’m glad you recognize me, my dear.’

It was wrong. **Wrong**. _How dare you?!_

‘No, no,’ the mage mumbled, checking her environment, touching the walls before staring at the other woman. ‘You’re not her. People only pass on through the Fade upon death, they don’t reside here.’ It was a known fact, the only one that gave her insurance that whatever that thing was, it wasn’t her mother. A desire demon? Here to root out her innermost wishes, with promises of love and family?

‘You seem certain of that. Yet here I am. With you. As I’ve promised,’ the _thing_ said, her expression sad and disappointed. 

But Circe won’t let herself be tricked. ‘I am _very_ sure. You’re just a demon or-or spirit, masquerading as her. What do you want?’

And to Circe’s surprise, the other one didn’t deny it. Instead, Revka smiled, a sweet and genuine smile. ‘I want to know why she did it. Why she died to be with you. You said it yourself – the dead don’t stay in the Fade. Why did she think that, then?’

She was sitting elegantly on a sofa in the alcove, watching Circe pace around nervously. ‘I don’t know! I don’t remember much about her, I doubt she had any real knowledge in terms of the arcane, even less about the Fade. Revka was delusional, her letter shows that much.’

The spirit’s eyes widened, crossing her arms with interest sparking within her being. ‘Delusioned with what? Love? Sadness?

‘Guilt?’

 

> _I can’t do this to her anymore, father. She’s blue, Maker. Circe, love, stay with me._

 

_Those_ again. Damn, why was this thing so set on bringing forth memories she’s tried to forget? As if she cared that her mother suddenly felt guilty for trying to save her daughter from her magic gift by drowning her, using leeches to ‘cleanse’ the body, the blood from the magic. Superstitions that brought pain to both the child and the parents. She wasn’t the only one who had to go through that before being sent to the Circle. Why was this spirit – demon – interested in her specifically?

She wasn’t interested in giving answers. She wanted them for herself. ‘What are you? A desire demon? Why do you want to know me or my mother?’

‘I just want answers,’ she said, standing up as the room suddenly expanded, vines growing through the bookshelves. ‘You’re different from other mages in the Circle. You ask the right questions. You’re never happy with just one answer. Maybe you can help me.’

‘Help you? As if I’d be foolish enough to fall for your trap, fiend!’ That's it, she **has** to wake up. ‘I’m not fond of sharing my body with demons,’ she spat.

But Revka’s face remains unchanged, still masked with curiosity. ‘That’s not what I seek. I’m not interested in your realm, mortal. I want answers.’

‘To what? What do you want to know?’

‘Everything! Who am I?’ she asks, smile widening, turning around to reshape her realm – the walls falling down to reveal a cliff over the ocean. ‘For years, so many questions your people asked remain unanswered. I’ve heard them echoed through their dreams for generations, yet I have no answers. I have…forgotten things and now my vision is blurry. I wish for enlightenment.’

‘So, you’re a spirit? What kind of spirit? What is your purpose?’ Circe asked cautiously. Interested in knowledge. Perhaps a spirit of wisdom? ‘What could I possibly answer?’

Excitement flew over the other one’s face as she spoke: ‘I do not know. Whenever the song lulls me, I forget something, and some questions arise, things I cannot understand from this position. This is my home-’ she says, gesturing towards the changing environment, the cliff now an overgrown forest. ‘Your realm is forever unchanging, static – what I want is answers, not to leave my home. Your mages have provided some answers, images, through their dreams, but they’ve always asked the wrong questions. Your people have forgotten, too.’

Circe began feeling weaker, more tired from the interaction with the spirit. She leaned against a tree, focusing on the other one. If it were a demon, its intentions of leaving the Fade would have been clearer. Well, it does have ambitions that require leaving the Fade, yet it doesn’t want to. A need that must have corrupted other spirits before.

‘Why do you think I could answer your questions?’

Her eyes were suddently piercing through her soul, searching. She hummed and answered in a sing-song voice, a lullaby from before….

‘My questions are your own. It’s why I follow you – unlike others, you’re always searching, no matter the answers. There’s always more.’

The grass under her feet was becoming increasingly damp and the forest turned into a bog, fog engulfing them and mystifying the familiar figure before her. ‘Why choose to show yourself as my mother, then? Why now?! W-why not someone else? Or something? An animal?’

‘I wanted to see your reaction. To understand why I gave my life for you, my child. What the purpose of such an action was. This was a familiar sight for you. Ever since your mother came, she has been a question, one I hoped you could answer. No other mother – or father – has given themselves to the lake. Not that I know of.’ The spirit waved the fog away, her realm shaping after her whim, becoming a beautiful ruin with vines running along the elven patterned columns.

Circe’s patience was wearing thin, mostly because drowsiness was overcoming her. ‘I don’t know why she killed herself. I d-don’t want to know.’

A sun was setting behind Revka, her face shrouded in shadow, yet she could still make out the faint smile. ‘Mortals are so full of mysteries, yet so restricted. Why not use your imagination? Seek out what you don’t understand? Reach beyond your grasp?’

And as the wind grew bolder in the open field they were in, she felt herself pulled down again with wet hands, panic rising in her gut as the black water was swallowing her. With strain she manages one final question: ‘Did you stop the demon from finding me during my Harrowing?’

 

 

‘It’s what a mother does, my child.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter was an attempt. 
> 
>  
> 
> \-----  
> Why is Amell afraid of water?
> 
> Remember the Codex from DA:I about magic superstitions?  
> http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Superstitions  
> 'A child showing signs of magic may be submerged in water until the breath is nearly lost. If magic is still weak within them, it will die before the child'.
> 
> Revka tried to drown the magic out of her at the first signs because of her paranoia; the other ‘prevention’ methods in the codex were also performed - by her grandfather (Fausten) mostly. It only intensified the magic in Circe, who had nightmares and at night covered her room with snow/ice. By solidifying the water, she couldn't be submerged any more.


End file.
